


CROOKED QUEEN

by Cawerkuu



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gangs, Heavy Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, No Incest, Organized Crime, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Serious Injuries, Sibling Love, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-12-24 06:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawerkuu/pseuds/Cawerkuu
Summary: In order to achieve an alliance with another mafia, Logan is gifted with an investment at the beginning as she always is as the current Head of the Cromwell Family. Except money or valuables, she was gifted with a young, terrified, and harmed young girl. Allowing herself to take pity on this girl, she takes her in. Little did she know just how important this girl would become to her.





	1. The Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> For @ugudfam's birthday! Love you Farah <3!!

It was dark, the entire building being casted in a sense of dread and murkiness. It was silent, except for one room. Beyond the dark wooden doors stood the HeadMistress of the ruthlessly intelligent and clever Cromwell Mafia. For years, they have gone completely undetected from law enforcement, avoiding them at every chance and managing to forge the blame on another. They’re ridiculously tactful, inventive, and resourceful in every way manageable in every generation. Heir after heir just seemed to be gifted with this unimaginable intelligence and skill, knowing how to work others to their advantage and the right chess pieces to get the true prize, the king, of their operation. 

This leads to the current Mistress who sits across the polished table from the current Head of the Englishmen Mafia. Crowned as the new mistress at age fifteen, Logan Cromwell has been governing and playing the games just right, like her parents and grandparents before her, making all the chess pieces of her enemies fall into her hands. She’s the queen of organized crime, being able to take any direction and make whatever moves she pleases much like her chess counterpart, and she even knows it. Everyone underestimated her when she took over, especially when she has an older sister who is as dedicated to their family business her who is four years her senior, but she proved herself worthy from the start with her remarkable skill with a 9mm semi-automatic handgun at her side and a brain that overarches all others put to the test everyday. 

She’s always received great marks.

In addition to her intelligence and expertise, her beauty was excepted from being born from a noble woman who ran off with the bad boy of her dreams. Her parent’s romance was a typical, cliche one. It reminded many of the Romeo and Juliet sort of story, especially with their untimely death. Practically everyone in the community knew of their high status in it, however, no one in the world would ever speak a word of them to the cops if caught. It was a death wish if you ratted out a normal gang, but it was utter hell if you dared to breathe a word about their mistress or her business. 

“Are you going to fool around or give me what we previously agreed upon? Its most exhausting to use other efforts to get you to see my proposition.” Logan, known for the lack of emotions in her cold, dead yet beautifully electric blue eyes, spoke with clear intent and the usual tone of uninterest clear in her voice that could soothe out this deal or order to complete utter destruction of another mafia empire. He knows that not only could she do it swiftitully, but she could get away with it too. All that power was in the hands of a mere nineteen-year-old yet she did perfectly, holding all the perfect, needed players in the clasp of her palm.

She could wreak havoc all along society and she probably managed to win. No one doubts it. If you do, you better as hell not mention it to anyone or her older sister was bound to come for your neck. That snake would find out one way or another.

“Exactly so! I would hate for my adorable sister to frown, so you should make a very good decision - that is if you want to live.” Dorothy, smiling wickedly as ever, spoke with a clear intent in her voice. Her eyes were glinting, she was smug because she knew she would win over them. They were powerless against her and the demonic ways of this family!

"Y-yes, I understand." He was edging on his years to be fifty, close to retirement so his eldest son could take over yet he was quivering like a child. He watched a quirk of her lips appear, the way Logan's confidence radiated throughout the room. 

"Now, we're going to call a truce." Logan said with the utmost certainty, intertwining her hands and leaning forward. She knew this battle was already won. "I don't particularly like the ways of the Kiyoko gang, they're far too erratic and dangerous for my taste. They make a fool of themselves really, they're far too obvious in their crimes. It truly amazes me that law enforcement hasn't caught them yet. They have speed on their side."

"Y-yes, they pose a threat to all sides."

"Exactly, which is why I would like to be rid of them as you would, no?" Logan said, lifting her eyebrow. "It would not only greatly benefit both of us, but the entirety of organized crime. I'm sure you have no objections."

"I don't imagine they would, Lo! Right, sir?" Dorothy said once again. As if the scar of her right didn't already make her scary, her playful but murderous tone of voice drove shivers down people's spines and fear implanted onto their hearts. It was like making a deal with a devil when you made one with Cromwell family. 

"N...no objections, ma'am." 

"Well then, how about our payment? We can't leave without it, you know, what if you betray us after all?" Dorothy cocked her head to the side, smiling all the while. 

"That is a good point." Logan hummed, pondering quietly.

"Um, we...we could probably arrange something. W-we have a girl here...she cleans, cooks - "

"Let me guess, a slave is your offer. Human trafficking is quite revolting." Logan huffed, showing emotion for once. Annoyance. That's not good for him. "Very well, if you're so lack-lustered at your attempts, I suppose I have been lonely as of late. Show me the girl."

He shot up his chair, shakily urging her to follow him beyond the creaking doors and down the dark, dreadful hallways. Logan noted how properly cared for this area of the building was. This had to be where they kept those they saw as lowers, less worthy people. 

'How disgusting.' Despite being the family mistress of a long-running successful mafia, they had never lowered themselves to human-trafficking. It was disgusting to drag those into this world who never asked to be there. They all made their choices and threw away any normal, law-abiding, safe life. The victims of human-trafficking didn't get a choice. 

Opening a door shakily, he revealed a mostly empty room. The state was utterly unliveable. Cracks were running across the walls and ceilings, the temperature practically freezing, and lies of mattered, ripped beds poorly made. 

There was one girl in the back, tucked into the corner. She was shaking, only dressed in ripped top and a pair of boxers. She has to be frozen! 

"Dorothy, your jacket." Logan demanded, reaching out her hand for her sister's blazer who silently slipped it off, showing off her well-fitted white button-up that were perfectly tucked into her black slacks. Taking the blazer from her hands, she walked over the quivering girl who shook and stared up at Logan with so much fear in her eyes. 

She bent down and threw the blazer around the girl. She hated how the young woman flinched. Her appearance was ghastly. She looks like she hasn't slept in days, was low on food constantly and had never seen the light of day. She reached over, fitting the tips of her fingers through her short hair before meeting resistance.

"You can't even care for anyone, can you? Her hair is matted beyond belief." Logan sighed, hating how depraved the system is but it is a world of crime, it’s to be expected. “Leave us.”

“What? No, I can’t! What if she - “

“Are you questioning my lovely sister’s authority?” Dorothy glared, her tone sharp and threatening, making the elder shrink in his perfectly tailored suit. He shook his head rapidly, he wanted to see a full retirement, thank you very much. “Good! Leave.”

With as quick and nervous as he came, the room was without him and the young, vulnerable girl was alone with the two Cromwell sisters. Logan felt pity for the girl, something she rarely felt given how detached you have to be from your emotions in order to conduct a ruthless, killer (literally) business like her own. She scooted back from the girl, plopping down onto the dirty floor with her despite the yanking of the long pleated skirt being a bit uncomfortable at first. She looked over at the confused girl who was frantically looking back and forth between her and Dorothy.

“What is your name?” She asked, cocking her head to the side in interest. The girl looked young. She wondered how long she was a slave to this gang.

“I-I-” The girl panicked, tearing up at the attention she was receiving. She clutched the dark blazer closer to her, having a hard time to breathe. “V-Virgil…”

‘A panic attack perhaps?’ Logan concluded, pondering on her sudden onslaught of symptoms from the way her chest heaved, the sweat started to dribbled, and how she was clutching the blazer really tight in her hands. 

“No need to worry, I am not here to harm you. That is not my intent, even if I am the family head. My people are people, please remember to breathe.” She reminded her cautiously, Virgil nodded shakily. She looked like she trying to really listen to her, but was having a hard time. A distraction was always well in order, she presumed.

“How old are you?” She spoke with a gentle tone, light and soft as to not trigger her further. 

“S-sixteen.” The smaller girl managed to mention. Logan sighed silently, she wasn’t going to get what she wanted as much out of her fast enough. She had other arrangements besides this one. They needed to move along. 

“Come with me,” Logan stood up allowing the dark blue to fall, dusting off her behind. She offered her hand to the girl, noting how her hand was still sore from her wound. She would get Patton to change it later, it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll take care of you now.”

Virgil said nothing but laid her shaky hand in Logan’s, letting the Mistress pull her up from off the ground she had spent countless nights cowering against. She followed the two’s lead, not uttering a word as they traveled through the building. She had never seen so much of it before, getting little glimpses whenever she was dragged from one room to another. 

Before she knew it, she was out of that horrible place and here - standing out in the middle of the outside world! She could feel the gravel against her bare feet, the feelings the damp wind in the late afternoon air, and see how the sun had begun to lowered, bringing a slight blue to the sky. It had been so long since she had last been outside, much less seeing the sky again! It was almost blinding.

“This way.” Dorothy said calmly, urging Virgil over to the slick black car. She hesitantly followed the brunette's into the car, sitting in the back seat while the others drove up front. She hated this. She was just a piece of meat for everyone to bruise and enjoy their wishes. She was so tired of being a slave to whatever people wished of her.

But then again, she couldn't really do anything to escape this hell she found herself trapped in against her will.

"Is there anything else on the agenda?" Logan asked, looking out the window and watching the streets glimmering underneath the moonlight pass by as they drove to their next destination. The deal had gone in her favor, but now she has a new person she had to teach and learn about. Social interactions with people she sees everyday, not those she's threatening or trying to arrange deals, were something she disliked most. She only just got used to Patton being around and she's been with them for two years now. 

It was different in exchanges like her previous one. They were all like business meetings. A little more extra and manipulative than a normal business meetings but still a business meeting nonetheless. 

"We have to head to our sweet home!" Dorothy laughed behind the wheel, she knew her way in the car. She was the only person who drove it, practically being Logan's own security guard and chauffeur. She never really let her be alone. "Gotta let the little chick settle in, yeah?" 

"That makes logical sense." Logan hummed, glancing in the mirror to see Virgil with her head lowered and hands in her lap. It would take awhile to undo whatever that senseless gang taught her. Who knows what they did to the poor child or how long it's been beaten into her head? "Patton is the best choice to take over for her in my absence"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Dorothy reached in her pant's pocket, pulling out her phone. "...yeah, Pat? Good, I got you! You aren't pining over Ro right now yeah?"

Logan rolled her eyes. Could she ever stop teasing their people? 

"What? Of course you guys are! It's  _ so  _ obvious, I'm telling you get some — "

"Dorothy, the reason you called." Logan reminded her in a demanding tone, glaring at her sister. 

"You're such a bummer, Lo!" Dorothy whined. "But hey, we got a new girl from that idiot old guy — yes Patton it is — yeah, dontcha think we know? It's Mafia business! Yes, yes! Of course not that's why I'm calling you — "

"Hand me this before you kill us by crashing." Logan snatched the phone out of her hand and pressed it against her ear. "Patton, you there? I got a job for you."

"B-but you took a girl from human-trafficking, that's  _ wrong _ !" 

"I've killed someone before the sake of protecting everyone. In the name of wrong, there is always an intention of right." Logan sighed. "Listen, if we didn't take her, who knows how much worse she would have been taken? He offered and took, that's how deals work, but that besides the point."

"... what's the job then?"

"Get her comfortable." Logan whispered quietly, not keen on Virgil hearing. "She's gonna need clothes, you can use some of mind for all I care. Help her get cleaned and get better. She's extremely filthy and malnourished because of that organization. Make her feel welcomed, she scared beyond belief."

"Oh no, the poor kiddo! How old is she?"

"Sixteen." Logan felt a string of pity ache inside her saying that.

"Oh god, poor thing! I'll get Roman to whip up something really tasty, okay? She'll have a feast here! Do you want me to go over the basic rules too?" 

"Yes, that would be best. It's best to let her know what she's getting in and what is required of her. I don't know what placement I'm resigning her to yet though. For now, let her just work with you?"

"Of course that's fine!"

"Clean up a bedroom for her too." Logan saw they were coming up on a familiar dark, off-the- side road. This was the path to their home. "Alert the others too, just make her feel welcomed, okay? Her name is Virgil, that and her age are all I know for now."

"Gotcha! I'll be a great hostess!"

"I'm counting on you, Pat, all of you."

"We won't let you down!"

-x- 

She watches as Patton steps out of their shared home. You really wouldn’t expect it to be a place where crime breeds. It’s a tall building, blue and gray mixing together well with the outer concrete and the polished, clear nature of the thick windows. It looks like an office building when it’s really not. It's been family-run for years, more like a home than an office, especially the top floors.

Patton looked happy and preppy as ever. She was dressed in her favorite baby blue sweaters and white skirt, matching kitten stockings and white and blue tennis shoes. Her hair bounces as she skips over the car, the twin ponytails settling what others might find cutely on her shoulders as she halts to a stop on Logan's side. 

"Hi there, Lo!" Her voice is almost annoyingly feminine, clear with joy. It's almost like something out of a Disney cartoon. Logan almost envied the way her form yelled fluidity with how she always seemed to be ever-moving whether it was with her skipping, swaying on her feet idly, or swinging her arms back and forth, she was always moving. She was so expressive compared to Logan, you could tell just the way she felt with the way her body language spoke. 

“Salutations.” Logan muttered, glancing back at Virgil who was shrinking in her seat. This was going to be troublesome. “Virgil,”

“Y-yes?” Virgil jumped, frantically turning her head to Logan with a panicked expression as if she was going to scold her for some reason. 

“This is Patton Muller, she will be taking care of you while I finish the rest of my agenda for today. I shall return by dinner time, unless a human error causes lateness, and I hope that Patton has introduced you to the rest of the cast of characters in our establishment, if you will. She’ll give you clothes, food, and a room. If anything is not to your liking, please inform her of your distaste. Roman can always use a shot to her ego afterall.”

“That’s mean, ma’am!” Patton giggled, still holding a cheeky smile. “Nice to meet you, Virgil! I’m Patton, you can call me Pat or Patty if you want, the others do! Logan is just hard-headed!” 

“Whatever you choose to believe is of your own volition.” Logan huffed, narrowing her eyes at Patton who smiled all the while. No one really found her scary inside the family like others outside it. Once she stepped beyond the family home, everyone feared her and her power. A simple glance could cause someone to break out in a sweat. You certainly have to have one kind of a spine to stand up to the Queen of crime. 

“Sure, sure!” Patton laughed. Whenever she laughed, her tongue got stuck between her teeth. Apparently, it’s “cute” according to Roman, the fool that she is. Logan just sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh right - make sure to be safe, alright? Don’t come home bleeding, okay?”

“Who exactly do you think you’re talking to, Muller?”

“You said that last time and ended up with lash on your hand that needed stitches!”

“Fair point.” 

“Are you guys done bickering like a married couple or should I help Virgil out by myself?” Dorothy cut in, teasing with a sly smirk.

“Oh, cut it.” Logan shook her head, huffing once more.

“Sorry, Virgil!” Patton twisted on her heel and opened the new member’s door for her, seeming to surprise the malnourished girl. Patton offered her hand, just like Logan before, and Virgil meekly took it as she stepped out of the car and onto the gravel. “Logan gets me distracted! For as much as she’s smart, she’s really dumb caring for her own safety!”

“Incorrect, there are just risks when I enter the situations I have to for the sake of the family.”

“Risks that will drive me into an early grave with all this worrying!” Patton giggled again. Virgil frantically looked back and forth between the two chattering ladies. Maybe her gang was stricter, Logan supposes. Most are. 

Logan rolled her eyes. “Farewell for now, let Virgil choose dinner tonight if she has a favorite meal long as it doesn’t compromise anyone else’s immune system.” 

“Yes, madam! Ciao!”

-x- 

“Have you become a mother Logan? I never thought the day would come, especially with all of us being gay! Even more so since you’ve never been interested in another, inside or outside the family.” 

“You’re talking nonsense again Dorothy.” 

“Oh. come on. You’ve got to admit - it’s out of character for you. What is the gal even gonna do? I hardly think she can fight, maybe help Ro in the kitchen?”   
  


“Put your gaze back on the road, idiot.” Logan sighed, looking out at the window as the streets became darker as they staggered into more dangerous, life-threatening areas of the expansive, ever busy city. 

“Yes, yes!” 

To show pity as a boss in such a dark, crime-filled world can often be seen as weaknesses. Bosses order heinous acts, Logan is not above any of the others. Her family has killed before in the past when it became necessary. She might even have to order a hit on her current target.

No one likes a snitch. 

Even with their heinous ties to the family and leading it, she can't completely cut off all emotions, although, she wishes she could. It would have made her first year as head way more easier. Wielding and using a gun has become natural to her, threatening with a cold tone is her usual facade, and committing crime after crime under the radar is all things she can do now without blinking an eye. 

That doesn't mean she can't be disgusted by some of the things that go down in this underworld. Human trafficking,  _ slavery _ , is something that makes her jaw clench, her palms go sweaty, and her stomach feel queasy. She hates it, especially what some people do with it. They hurt their victims in unmanageable ways, ways that can never be excused in other contexts. It's sickening.

It makes Logan want to throw up.

It's only natural she would offer her hand to the detrioring girl. She felt pity for her. That girl can never return to a normal life. Besides the fact that the trauma will forever leave her paranoid, watching her back constantly day and night, she poses a threat. If she went to the cops or they came to her, she might spill about seeing or hearing of Logan and her family's organization. Much as it is heartless to say, she can't allow that to happen. 

She can't give her back the life she had. Her family is not hers. She can't bring back that warmth and joy she felt with parents and siblings, laughter spreading when she hung out with classmates, and she can't let her be able to meet just anyone and fall in love. She can't offer her any of that.

She can give her a chance at a new life. A new life she has control over. That's the best she can do alongside a place to sleep, clothes, and food. 

"How are your hands? Are they healing alright?" Dorothy asked softly, glancing at Logan but back to the road soon enough. She would earn a scolding on road safety if she wasn't careful from her younger sister.

"Hm? They're fine." Logan glanced down at her bandaged hands. She got careless, but it all worked out in the end. She isn't so naive to assume this will remain the same continuing in her career as the Head, but she has to take risks. The family organization must adapt and live on. "They're sore, but that's expected."

"I'll have Patton change them when we get back. You should have had her do them there." Dorothy sighed, huffing and pouting childishly.

"That would have taken too much time."

"You're always saying that." Dorothy rolled her eyes, knowing her younger sister well. "I'll see if Patton can help with something for the soreness. Right now, take it easy. Let me handle all the fancy action!"

"I don't trust you with a photo, how am I supposed to trust you with my life?"m

"Why are you so mean??"


	2. II: Walking Into The Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil finds herself in a new unknown, feared place. The place is off, the people are weird, and the system is crooked from what is her normal.
> 
> A/N: As promised, a new chapter Farah! It's about 1k shorter than the last one but I hope you don't mind. The intro to this story is getting pretty long, huh? Don't worry, next chapter will be more focused on the remaining main characters, some of the curious mystery surrounding the Cromwell Mafia, and getting things settled in so we can get to the meat of the fic! I really wanted to focus on Virgil a LOT this second chapter. It was very crucial to get her character given her history (although you don't know that quite yet ;) one day though!) and being forced into a new, unwanted situation is never fun for anyone or easy for that matter! Without further ado, I present Crooked Queen!

It seemed like a normal office from the outside, it looked like one of those buildings that belonged to some corporate monopoly rather than to a gang. It blended so easily with the rest of society, that fact scared Virgil. What would they intel of her? Would they do the same as her former leader ordered? Or worse? She wasn’t so sure of how much she could take anymore. It was getting too much for her. 

She had never wanted this life. She was just a normal rebellious catholtic schoolgirl who wanted to piss her parents by kissing pretty girls, drinking more than she could swallow, and messing around in the ‘bad’ crowd. She didn’t think a pretty girl with a ripped leather jacket and short hair with a cigar in hand could have led her down such a path. Sure, she knew it was bad and wrong but this life...this was not one she wanted.

“There’s not really many of us, I’m afraid.” The pig-tailed girl, Patton she thinks her name is, says walking beside her. She seemed like a cheery, preppy girl she would have seen in high school if she had gotten the chance to attend. She was probably a goodie-two shoes cheerleader back in the day. Not that Virgil will ever admit that suspicion out loud unless she wanted her teeth kicked in. “Dorth says it’s because we’re really good at what we do that we don’t need the numbers. We used to be pretty big back in the day before Master passed.”

‘Master?’ What exactly is this place? This makes no fucking sense to Virgil. 

What is a gang without their sheer numbers? Her former home had the very least, 500 men, maybe even a 1,000! They weren’t kind or inviting at all. They each had their own special twisted job whether they were handling or creating drugs or intimidating those around the blocks. They were always so intimidating and ruthless, especially to her. She was the embodiment of what didn't belong - fragile, weak, hesitant.

So what the hell was going on with these people? So far she's seen only  _ three  _ people and she's barely saw another soul since entering the large upscaled building. The people she did meet couldn't even compare to her former affiliation. They were practically polar opposites! 

"What do you want for dinner tonight? I have to let Ro know ahead of time! She gets so fussy about needing time." Patton giggled, her smile wide and kind, like one from an innocent child. 

Virgil thought she was pretty. She had tanned skin with freckles on each cheek and shining caramel-shaded eyes. The circle-framed glasses only seemed to add to this sense of childhood and innocence. She had her brown hair pulled into pigtails and her outfit was simple. A blue and white sweater with a blue skirt. 

It reminded Virgil of the past, what she used to be like before she was whisked away from her home life. She can hardly remember what it was it like, it usually made her cry whenever she thought about it but now? She just feels empty. This is her life, isn't it? To be seen as property and sold around until the day she perishes, whether painfully or not.

"I-I like curry." She snapped out of her thoughts. She forgot to answer Patton! On the first day! How foolish could she be?

"Oo, I love spicy curry! We have a lot of spicy foods here. Ro really wants to see Logan's 'facade' fade for once. She always tries and always fails!" Patton giggled.

Virgil didn't say anything. It didn't seem she was allowed. Or was she? Were their words the same as the former mafia? 

"Oh right! We've got to get you some clothes, my bad! Gah, you must think I suck!" Patton exclaimed, a look of terror crossing her face. "Come, come, let us travel to Logan's closet! Not that she was ever in it."

Virgil snorted then immediately regretted it, covering her face. 

"Why are you covering your face?" Patton tilted her head to the side. "Oh, goodness me, you're allowed to talk my dear! Ask any questions you have! We're not like other mafias. We all follow the same rules!"

" W-what are those rules?"

"Let's see," Patton hummed as she pressed the 'up' button for the elevator. "Never go to the 10th floor, Remus works there. It's always a mess, yuck! Never go to the 9th floor either, without permission that is. That's Logan's private area. It's kind of a tradition going back ages. Only her and Dorothy go up there without having to ask first."

_ They seem close _ , Virgil wondered. 

"We all eat together for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After all, we're a family. We gotta stick together." Patton said. "Oh if someone threatens you or harms you, let us know immediately. We'll take care of it, you're one of us now."

"That's it?" Virgil almost wanted to slap herself with her rudeness. She wasn't giving them a good impression of her. 

"Yup! That's all, pretty much everyone follow this." Patton skipped onto the forbidden ninth floor and opened the door at the end of the long hallway. The door was glossy, weirdly enough, it looked like mahogany wood. Patton swung the door open without much care and Virgil got a look into the type of person Logan Cromwell is. They always say you can tell who a person is based on their bedroom. 

There wasn’t much to say, which confused Virgil to no end. Isn’t this her precious space or whatever? Why was it so...basic then? The walls were bare white with nothing hung on them. No photos, no paintings, no shelves for extra space. The bed was made, it was a twin bed with a quilt tucked in with a matching pillow. The frame was glossy wood, just like the door. 

As Virgil glanced over the room, she noted the carpet underneath her soles of her scarred feet. It was soft. It was white too. A little dangerous considering if you drop anything in here, the entire look is ruined but then again, they were the mafia. They could probably afford a million more of these. 

There was a bookcase against the wall. It was tall and full to the brim, with plentiful of things placed on top of it neatly. She saw a photo pushed down, flat. It as if someone didn't want to see it. She noticed how the arm that helps it hold up was ripped off. 

She was curious but she was terrified at the same time. She didn't know these people, she barely knew the last people who took her as their own. What if Logan noticed the shift in the frame? She couldn't risk that! They could kill her for it!

So she let herself curiosity remain silent and unmoving. Instead, she just watched Patton move across the carpet and open the built-in closet. The freckled girl's fingers danced through the number of clothes hanging on the metal rack. Patton was talking, babbling on, but Virgil couldn't hear her. It was background noise. 

That was until Patton twirled around, her skirt lifting like something out of a Disney movie, and flashed a black jacket out in front of her. She blinked for a moment. It was pretty, despite being all black, except for something yellow on the hem of jacket. "You could wear this! You're freezing, right?" 

" U-um, yeah, thanks." Virgil shifted on her feet, feeling unsure. This was so new, so weird. 

"I'm not really sure what you like to wear," Patton pouted. "You probably weren't given a choice I bet. God, I hate people like those guys. I hate that she even agreed to an alliance with them, I'll talk to her about it later. Maybe you could give a look at Lo's closet though? Maybe you'll see something you like, she said you could have anything after all!"

" O-okay."

Hesitantly stepping forward, her eyes wavered over the neat line of the rack. Logan definitely seemed like one of those neat freaks and organized for  _ fun _ . She remembers her mother yelling at her to clean her room when she was naive and just a typical teen. Angry all the time, hormones rushing through like a missile strike and the urge to fight with her overbearing, critical mother was irresistible. 

What a fucking idiot she was. 

‘She sure likes button-ups.’ Virgil couldn’t help but notice a few with a dark colored tie thrown on the hanger. She was bored out of her mind, Logan reminded her of those catholtic girls at her old school. It was making her nostalgic. 

Virgil had to remember, however, that she was nothing like those girls. Despite the spare minutes she spent near Logan, she could already see it. She’s refined, purely business, and has the ultimate respect of her peers. Not just that, she was a Cromwell. They were famous in the underground crime scene, even to Virgil who was just a mere slave. You could always catch members ranting and talking about them, wishing they could take aim at the heir’s head but knowing their boss is too much of a ‘coward’ as they put it. 

“Oh right!” Patton suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands together, scaring the utter crap out of Virgil. She nearly gave her a heart attack. She hates loud noises. “Logan has this box of stuff she doesn’t wear anymore or isn’t her taste, it might fit you. It’s under her bed, let me get it.”

She watched curiously as Patton bent down, lifting the dark quilt. True as she said, there were a few boxes under it. Everything is not as it seems with this woman but Virgil supposes she should only expect that. Logan is the HeadMistress of an incredibly powerful mafia after all. Patton pulled the middle one out though, the brown one. 

“Let’s see what she hides here,” Patton lifted the box lid up and peered down. “Come take a look and see if there’s anything you like.”

Virgil bent down, feeling small and insecure. It’s only just hitting her now. This was her new life. This new place, these new people, she’d have to relearn everything. Is that even possible for her? 

Peering down in the box just as Patton did, she tried her best to give herself a distraction so she wouldn’t anger anyone with her anxious, hesitant ways. The box was filled with dark clothes, some looked never used. She shuffled through them, actually finding some things that she’d like. She felt herself nervously smiling, naturally, not for a facade to appease anyone. 

She wanted something. That wasn’t a feeling she felt in a long time. 

“Yeah…” Virgil felt herself smile, even if was a small one. Even if it hurt as tears welled in her eyes as her fingers clung around the black top. “I think this box will do me some good.”

Patton stared in awe, her blue eyes twinkling with wonder and concern. She pushed the number of questions she had for Logan out of her mind, the heartbreak swelling inside for the poor girl. She relaxed her shoulders instead, smiled brightly, and chripply said, “I’m so glad! Logan said you could have anything you wanted so it’s yours. Now, how about we get you to that rooms of yours so you can rest a little while?”

* * *

The kitchen was loud, pans and pots flying all around. It was a mess. A loud, demanding voice hollered out in distaste. “Where did Remus hide this forsaken crockpot?”

“You won’t need it tonight.” Patton giggled from the sidelines, her shoulders jumping in the baby blue sweater. She watched as Roman ducked her head up from inside the cabinets, searching for the crockpot. She looked a mess. Flour was dusting her cheekbones, her ginger hair going in a frizzy mess, and her breath was uneven from all the yelling and running around she had probably had been doing long before Patton stepped inside. 

“Patty!” Roman blushed, her cheeks flushing a hint of pink behind the flour. It was even in her hair! Roman jumped to standing up at a moment’s notice, stiff as a brick wall. It made Patton laugh more. 

“I just came now to tell you we have a new member. Her name is Virgil, she’s a doll.” Patton’s smile faltered, looking down at her buckled shoes. 

Roman walked around the counter, trying not to step on any pots or pans she scattered across the tiled floor and trip. She reached Patton with a pout. She was down. “What’s wrong, Patty?”

“It’s just…” Patton looked up at Roman, seeing her close up. The sight that had become a lovely familiar sight. Her ginger hair always fell down her shoulders and to her back so magnificently even if she looked like she had just wrestled a bag of flour for its guts. “I don’t like the way we got her. It was just like  _ her _ . Master promised we would never do that, he knew how much I hated it because - because -”

“Pattoncake,” Before she could stumble her words even more, strong, warm arms were wrapped around her shoulders. Her own fell around Roman’s waist, pulling her closer. She really needed her close right now. Hugs were always what she needed when she remembered. Even electroshock therapy couldn’t help her then. “Calm down, you’ll mess up your makeup. You need to breathe so you don’t have a panic attack, okay?”

Instead of answering her, she did her best to calm down with the tears that did fall. Her legs felt weak but Roman’s embrace felt so inviting and calm. She felt warm from the ends of her roots to her tippy-toes. Everything was okay. If it wasn't, it was going to be. Roman was right here. She’s always been right here. 

“There we go.” Roman chuckled, stroking Patton’s head. “It’s okay. We can talk to Logan if you want, together. You don’t need to be alone in this. You never were.” 

“And I'm the oldest here.” Patton let the remaining tears fall, her body going lax. 

“There’s nothing wrong with leaning on me. After all, I’m your own princess in shining armour.”

Now that made Patton blush and go in a fit of giggles. 

Roman grinned, letting her go. “So what were you saying about me not needing a crock pot? Maybe I won’t have to kill Remus.”

“She’s a mercenary. You’ll die if you tried.” Patton shook her head with a playful smirk. “Virgil’s favorite dish is curry and rice. She’s really malnourished so makes lots of extra tonight.” 

“Well, we’re gonna need more ingredients then to make my famous Spicy Chicken Curry then.” Roman winkled, jutting her hip out. 

“As usual, I have Logan’s credit card.” Patton stuck out her tongue, putting Roman’s heart at ease. 

“Wanna be a doll and help me with this mess too?” Roman rubbed the back of her neck, looking around at the scattered utensils, flour bags ripped hazardly open, and liquid traveling into the tile cracks. 

Patton smiled, cocking her head to the side. “And you’re supposed to be a princess.” She said endearingly.

“Pardon you, madam, but no one ever said  _ THIS  _ princess had to be a neat freak like our cruel, cold-hearted Mistress!”

That got them clutching their stomachs, laughing and grinning so much it hurt. 

* * *

She watched the roads pass her by outside the window on her side. The back of her hand was propping her chin up, her elbow placed upon the door handle comfortably. The rain was fogging up the window like a winter’s harsh breeze. She adored winter if she was perfectly honest.

It wasn’t because of the hopeful spirit trickling through Christmas and New Years. It wasn’t the idea of snuggling up in oversized sweaters with a quilt, her cat on her lap, and a fireplace burning the logs to a warm, scorching end. It wasn’t the charity or gift-giving either. 

It was the cold. She liked how it numbed her, how it made her body sear once warmth finally hit her like a train on unstable racks. Perhaps that was cynical. She wouldn’t argue that if you made the argument. 

“You’re quiet as ever,” Dorothy says, staring out at the road. She makes a quick, curious glance over at her but returns it to the road just as quickly as it left. 

_ “You’re always quiet! I didn’t ask for a b -! ”  _

She closes her eyes and lets out a tired sigh. She refocuses herself. She can feel the warm seat of the leather seat in the dark-framed car. She can hear the cackling of Dorothy’s tongue against the bottom of her mouth, making a little clicking noise. She picked it up as a kid and it’s been with her ever since. That’s how you know she’s bored out of her mind. She smells the perfume she laced her wrist with his morning. 

“Aren’t I always quiet?” She muttered. 

“Not this quiet.” Dorothy repiled, her brow furrowing. “Never this quiet. Are you thinking about  _ her  _ again?”

“Perhaps.”

“Lo - don’t listen to her, I’m telling you - !” Dorothy groans, huffing and puffing as usual. Her anger seeping through powerfully but they’re sisters, she can hear the pain laced underneath. “Okay, look, I’m a horrible example, yeah? But like, uh, be better than me or some shit? I really don’t know what I’m saying but like, she’s stupid, yeah? She doesn’t know anything about you, about us. Yeah?”

That made her smile, let out a smile chuckle against the back of her hand. “You’re so eloquent in front of everyone else.”

“I’m the oldest sister, I gotta make sure they don’t try shit!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oi, don’t be frank with me!”

“I’m nineteen, I think I’m over the teenage rage.” Logan rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips nevertheless. The window caught her interest once more, finding themselves pulling up on the gravel patch just like earlier today.

_ ‘Home.’ _


	3. III: Enslavement v. Freeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after many hours, Logan returns home for dinner with everyone at the table. Later on into the night, Virgil finds herself on the ninth floor, her hand reaching forward to knock on Logan's door as her panic attack worsens into the depth of the night.

The building is clean and the air stinks of professionalism and conformity. The tension doesn’t make her throat clench, her heart doesn’t race, nor her anxiety start to buzz through her fingers, make them shake. No, she is cooled and collected as usual. The ends of her hair lightly brushed her shoulder, the blue shoulder-less dress held loosely to her frame, and her stare was nonchalant at worst. She was the sight of maturity and elegance. 

And she knew it. 

The dress followed her every move, hugging her body closed as her long legs moved towards the door, her sister following behind her with the keys spinning around her index finger as she whistles cheerfully. She halted her step, glancing back at the woman clad in her body-fitting black tuxedo. She sure likes to take her time and ‘smell the flowers’ as they say. 

“Hm? Waiting for little ‘ol me?” Dorothy teased, her smirk was brimming with smugness. With a single twinkle changed in her iris and suddenly she’s that mischievous teenager that loved to teased and push people’s buttons. Often, she is still that teenager, especially when it comes to their work. Her need to play with people, trick them and see what will make them tick to the point of being on the edge of something horrifying. Maybe that’s why she gets along with Remus so well. 

“You know the rules,” Logan reminded her, glancing quickly at the door of their building and back at Dorothy. She folded her arms, arching her left brow. 

“Yes, yes.” Dorothy whined, her shoulders slumping back and marching in front of Logan, grasping the door handle while shoving her keys into her blazer’s pocket. “You’re such a party pooper, Lo.”

Logan rolled her eyes, hearing the  _ woosh _ of the wind as the glass door was pulled open. She stepped inside, seeing the long hall empty. It was lacking people, like usual. Really, the huge building was a bit ironic. They’re a well-established and respected mafia going back a dozen generations and yet they have a huge building and reputation when their members don’t hit triple digits. She doesn’t even think their numbers go over twenty. 

For someone so powerful and feared, she has very few to protect her honor and name. It’s ironic to have such a huge building compared to their weak numbers. 

Logan finds it amusing. It shows how well she plays her role as the leader of the Cromwell Mafia. As the leader, she must be strong-willed and able to strike the fear of God into anyone that looks her way. Hell, her mere longing gaze should make shoulders jump and spines shiver. That is her job as the leader, as the one who leads her family to victory and success. Dorothy, her sister, helps her in that never-ending quest set upon her since her birth. As her helper and protector, Dorothy is a vital role. It’s why her deceitful and cunning nature is needed. It balances Logan’s cold-mannered and unapologetic nature. 

The flats step across the polished hardwood floor, the heel of her shoes clicking against it. The hall is silent and barren, it reminds her how lonely it is ever since her father’s demise. It reminds her of a different time, a more stressful and anguish-filling one. It only makes her drive run stronger. 

She stops at the red door. The dress hits the back of her calves as she halts to a immediate halt, her eyes boring into the familiar wooden door. The shine of the golden knob tells her that Remus has recently been down her. It’s only cleaned by someone other than herself when she’s made a complete mess of the place. She’ll need another stern warning then. 

Dorothy snorts, glancing at Logan and turns the doorknob again, swinging the large door open. “Introducing our powerful Mistress, Logan Cromwell!” 

She steps inside, her eyes running over her comrades. There’s a change in the air tonight. Things are more intense this time around. Patton’s eyes aren’t meeting her own, she’s staring at the ground, at Dorothy, at the wall; everything that isn’t her. She has a feeling things might get a bit more difficult later on into the evening. Her shoulders are heightened, the sleeves of sweaters pulled over her hands to make little ‘sweater paws’ as she’s nicknamed them. 

She pays no mind to that and notes Virgil standing next to her. Her hair has been detangled and brushed but it's still curly. Perhaps, it’s her natural style? It looks quite cute on her, she has to admit. It curls around her chin, covering her pale cheeks that are starting to regain some color. 

_ That’s good _ , she notes silently as her eyes wander. She’s dressed in dark clothing that seems a little too big for her but she’s been severely malnutritioned. She probably shouldn’t be on her feet long, she’ll need to have Patton do a proper examination on her and make sure to tend to her needs. She notes a familiar-looking dark jacket with a black tank top underneath. She’s really tights. Those are warm, that’s good. She recalls the poor girl freezing earlier. Something that really catches her eyes is the choker clicked along Virgil’s neck, the black crescent moon charm falling from it.  _ It’s pretty on her.  _

“Good evening,” Logan offers her a small smile. “You look good, I’m glad we were able to provide you with some more suitable clothing. I apologize that you had to deal with my tastes of clothes for the meantime, we will arrange a time for you to go out and choose your own.” 

“O-oh!” Virgil’s shoulders jump, her eyes wide. This has to be overwhelming for her, she presumes. “No, that really isn’t necessary, um, Miss?”

Logan blinks, she can’t be serious. She cocks her head to the side, “Logan is fine. You needn’t to call me a title, I’m not really into that. Everyone in the family is equal here.”

That didn’t seem to soothe her though. She just looked at the ground, picking at the loose string on the hem of her jacket. Her gaze was stubbornly glued there. Logan figured she shouldn’t push her further. She’s had a long day, after all. Her entire life was changed in the matter of a simple handshake. Everything she must have endured…

_ “Please, please...don’t make me go back! Please, Master - !” _

She shakes her head. Refocus yourself.

“I’m amusing dinner is ready, Patton?”

“Yeah, Roman made curry and rice tonight. It’s Virgil’s favorite meal!” Patton clapped her hands together, smiling wide. She walked closer to Logan, gently reaching for her upper arm. Her eyes got cloudy, her smile turning somber from the facade of the fragile expression. 

Logan didn’t want to question it. If Patton had something to say, that was just how it was then. In a hushed, small voice, Patton whispered, “We need to talk.” 

Logan is usually right about these sorts of things. The legend of their family rings true. Intelligence and grace passes down to a child of the former parent’s of the Cromwell line. It’s almost as if they’re blessed, or perhaps, cursed with the intelligence of misery and murder that haunts their hands. 

And yet they pass it on and on, to the next child after the next. A child that was raised to be a murdered and drug dealer, to be a criminal that breaks every law without ever leaving a footprint or hair strand behind. It’s a cruel, callous cycle. A cycle that Logan plays a part of herself so she would be a hypocrite if she went against it and called it out. 

After all, it works. 

“As you wish.” Logan agreed harmlessly, hoping the anxiety would fade from Patton’s cold eyes but it only seemed to heighten it. Hopefully, their talk would be more helpful after dinner. She could only take the best course of action.

Patton let go of her, not that she ever gripped onto Logan. Patton was gentle and soft, that showed in the worst of the ways sometimes. Being in a mafia, surrounded by murder, drugs, and sex all day long was not her forte. It wasn’t easy for her to keep her cool. She ran on emotions, most people did and they weren’t wrong for that but most people learn how to develop a poker face. Patton never did and that’s been her main flaw ever since joining.

It might be a hindrance in her mission but one she allows herself to adapt to. After all, they are a family. As ill-intended as it may sound to outsiders. 

She walked alongside Dorothy who had stepped back to join her as the others went their separate ways from greeting her. They scattered like butterflies, it would be assuming if it wasn’t the thousandth time she had seen it. Logan locked her eyes on Virgil’s figure. 

It was weak-willed and her distress was obvious to her. It was obvious to everyone, she could tell that. Even as someone dim-witted as Remus could sense it. 

“So what are ya gonna do with her?” She ever-so eloquently asked, her gaze following Logan’s that continued to wander. It was a bit rude to stare at someone but she supposed she was worried. This was no easy situation for anyone involved. A newcomer is difficult, especially one so young and naive despite her being in a mafia beforehand. “Can I have her?”

Logan felt annoyance hit her like a rock. Remus’s demands were insufferable. She never could be convinced with any sort of reason or logic. She was annoying to say the least. “Listen here Remus, you will do no such thing. You will not lay a hand on her, understood? Nor will you intentionally upset her for your own amusement. This is difficult enough for the child as it is, she doesn’t need you nosing in her business about personal, private business she has no intention in sharing or revealing.”

Remus stared at her, her witty smile falling. She threw her head back, groaning. “You’re sooo boring! Can’t you guys ever let loose? Even my twin doesn’t know how to shake it, you guys could use it!”

“Trust me, I have no intention or want to learn how to ‘shake it’.” Logan replied, confused as she tilted her head. What did that mean? Was it a metaphor for something?

“And we are movin’, come on, Lo. Chop, chop!” Dorothy’s gloved hands cupped her bare shoulders and pushed her forward, her feet being forced to step in front of each other. Her other option was to dig her heels into the ground like a disrespectful child or trip on her shoes. Neither seemed wise, especially not in front of Remus. She heard the bark in her sister’s voice as she called over to the merceny. “You too, move it ya murderer! Dinner is on the table and you know the rules!”

Logan let out a tired sigh. It wasn’t close to time for her to rest from this tiresome, gruelling day. Perhaps she would turn in early tonight. 

* * *

“I welcome my ever beloved, specially-prepared Romania Spicy Curry and Rice!’ Roman, decked out in an annoying bright red chef outfit, threw her hands up with her chest puffed out. The grin on her face said it all. She was undoubtedly smug with her accomplishment. “Not only that but since we were going into asian cuisine, I figured to add a few more options onto the table for today. I made my delightful miso soup and steamed veggies for all to enjoy as a side. I even had extra time to make dango as dessert for tonight.” 

_ Does she ever not go overboard?  _ Logan sighed, again. She would probably continue to for the rest of the night. Today was so tiring, she could use sleep. Roman’s smugness gave her no amusement. To be so prideful and egotistical, well, Logan could never. That sounded exhausting if she was being frank with you. 

“-hope my dish is up to your tastes, Madam Virgil!” Hearing the newcomer’s name called out in Roman’s loud, booming voice dragged Logan out of her critical thoughts and back into reality. After all, Virgil was right across from the table for her. Roman must have rearranged their seats. She and Patton probably teamed up at some point to try and Virgil feel welcomed to their home. 

Hunched shoulders, twitching eye, bottom lip trapped in her teeth; these were all classic signs of anxiety at play. Logan pondered. There wasn’t much she could do. Surely the best option was to remain silent and not bring attention to it, especially with everyone around. Doing so would humiliate her and only make her anxiety rise, maybe even to the level of a panic attack. 

She supposed she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

“T-thank you.” Virgil whispered from her chapped lips. Thanks to the overhead light above, she could clearly see her better. She was thin, just like she saw before in that poor room of hers. Even dressed, you could see the way her collarbones stuck out and how Logan’s clothes slipped off of her without much effort in itself. It’s worrisome. 

The plates were placed down before all of them, the silverware was unwrapped, and the chatter spat out of nowhere. It blew up, everyone being loud and annoying. She felt a headache coming on. She breathed in deeply and released the breath. Taking the fork in hand, she dipped into her meal. 

She felt different. 

Well, she  _ is  _ different. She is the example, after all. She’s graceful, majestic, and professional. She’s what future heirs should aspire to be and what former heirs clap their hands at. What she wears is directly connected to her roots. What she says can always be used against her. 

_ Trust.  _ That’s not something she knows. In all honesty, she doesn’t understand it. She was taught to keep everything close to her chest. Never let anyone know what you’re thinking, be unpredictable but not stupid in your decisions, everything rides on you after all. It all depends on her. The only person she considers ‘trustworthy’ is Dorothy. If you need reminding,  _ her sister.  _

It’s funny in a way. The only other person she can feel like she depends on and can truly trust is her sister. That’s just because they share the same bloodline. They are the same, a match if you will. The quest to carry on their family’s name is on both their shoulders, reminding them every second what their purpose is for. That’s no lie for either of them. 

Logan hates to admit it but she would rather be with Dorothy than alone with this purpose. The misery that surrounds a long dead ancestor’s dream can easily haunt a person and drive down the cliff. She doesn’t like to think of it. 

_ Today is a negative day _ , Logan notes, placing her fork down. She’s barely taken a few bites of her food. She loves other culture’s food too. She enjoys experiencing and tasting them, they’re delicious and bring another small and simple but needed joy into her life that is often overlooked by normal, average people. 

“Logan, are you alright?” Roman catches her attention, making her look up from the cold stare she was giving the plate of food. Her eyes scream dubiety. A shot of pain spreads its way inside of her Logan’s heart. She’s worried the others, that’s no good. Today has been painstakingly stressful as it is. “What? Does my precious recipes full of love not meet your high-class tastes?”

There’s that pride and smugness in her voice. It’s that hint of sarcasm and wittiness that lingers proudly in her voice. It’s a reminder, something that grounds her. 

Was she dissociating again? 

She can’t taste the lingering food on her tongue. It’s all bland to her. Her own eyes only see gray shades of life, maybe her glasses are cloudy? 

“I suppose I’m a little tired today is all. There is a lot to do after dinner for me.” Logan smiles, easing her comrades uncertain faces. They shouldn’t worry, not over her at least. If they should worry about anyone, it should be -

She feels her gaze on her. She hasn’t even glanced across the table but she can feel it. The uncertainty seeping into Logan’s skin. 

She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. _ Smile, that’s what good mistresses do. _

“My hand just hurts, I should excuse myself.” Logan breathes out. Their eyes don’t vanish however from her. They’re locked down harder. It’s annoying. “Dorothy, can you help me change it?” 

Dorothy’s gaze is skeptical, that much is clear. Her lips are parted, her eyebrow shot up in suspicion. 

“Yeah, no prob.” Dorothy kicks away from the table, reaching out a hand for Logan to help her up. She’s pulled up easily from the chair. 

“Thank you for dinner, I’m sorry I couldn’t eat it really at all. If you would like, could you pack it up? For leftovers for lunch tomorrow perhaps. It would be a waste to throw such good food out after all.” Logan smiles, going through her to-do checklist mentally. She needs to take away all remaining business today before she can dismiss the others. “You’re a great cook, even though I know your inflamed ego doesn’t need to be enabled from me.”

And just like that, familiar as the Sun is to the Earth, Roman flashes her a shit-eating grin that makes Logan’s eyes hurt with the pride summed up in it. She’s always been that way, she supposes. That is her best quality, she thinks.

“Patton,” She calls over the abnormally anxious nurse who jumps up next to their newcomer. Her eyes are anxious, scared. Logan is tired. “I apologize but could we rearrange our talk for nine tomorrow? You’ll be my first appointment.” 

“Oh, of course! Really, don’t worry about it.” Patton puts her hands up, smiling. Even in her exhausted state, she can see that’s a complete lie. The furrowing of her eyebrows, the tightness of her smile, and the tone of her voice- she’s faking and she’s failing hard at pretending otherwise. “Is your hand going to be okay? I could take a look at it, I promised earlier remember!”

“I’m sure I can handle a little cut.” Dorothy chuckled, snorting. “Come on, let’s hurry to our floor.”

“Just a moment,” She stops Dorothy from leading her to the elevator and turns to face Virgil lastly. “Virgil?”

“Y-yes?” The short-haired woman jumps. Leaving her shoulders hunched for so long will surely hurt her back, maybe even end in long-term damage. 

“Sleep well and eat as much as you like.” She smiles, trying to be as welcoming as she can be. She’s not emotionally available as the others are easily as she was born with a purpose, raised for a reason. She was more than love, but she wants to try anyways. “I hope the room is to your appeasement tonight. Please inform me immediately if anything is off or wrong, you are granted express permission to the ninth floor for that. We’ll talk more tomorrow, I’m sure you’re the most tired one of us all. Today has been a big change but hopefully a good one.”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil twiddles her thumbs. A habit to cope with anxiety? “T-thank you for taking me in.”

Patton’s eyes linger on Virgil, her mouth drawing in a frown at her words. She tries not to think of it or analyze it. It’s time for her to turn in early.

“Okay, goodnight all of you.” Logan waves a quick goodbye and follows beside Dorothy as they turn their direction towards the elevator.

“So do you want to tell me what that is all about?” Dorothy challenged, “You’ve been off all day, you know.”

“Maybe it's PMS.” Logan jokes, cracking a small grin. She looks up at Dorothy and finds a smile on her lips. She chuckles. 

“You wish it was that simple. If that was the case, you’d be downing pain pills right about now.” Dorothy shook her head, stepping inside the elevator but keeping an arm out in front of the door to hold it open for Logan. It’s a kind gesture, one that speaks volumes to her sincerity at times. 

At the very least, it makes her smile. 

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’m always right!”

“You couldn’t distinguish the difference between a pop tart and apple strudel yesterday.” 

“It was  _ two  _ days ago, thank you very much! They look similar!”

“And you wonder why I suggest you might need to see an ophthalmologist.”

“A  _ what _ ?!”

A sigh is released. 

“An eye doctor, Dee.”

“Oh!’ The beep of the elevator hits the ninth floor, the door sliding open as they reach their destination. “Then just say that next time!”

Logan steps off first, shaking her head. “You are truly one of a kind.”

“Why thank you,” Dorothy smirks, walking down the long corridor to Logan’s room at the end of the hallway. 

“It wasn’t a compliment by any means, so don’t take it as such.” Logan smirks, cocking her head towards Dorothy. “You are truly hopeless.” 

“Whatever you say,” Dorothy winks and unlocks the door to Logan’s bedroom with her key, opening it for her. She thanks her with a simple nod and walks inside, hearing her sister shout a ‘goodnight nerd!’ from the other side as the door swings shut. She is left alone inside her room. 

Before she can count to ten, her hand has reached behind her head and pulled loose the ribbon tying back her hair. She feels the locks fall and the roots of them ease with the aching pain she felt all day. If it wasn’t expected of her, she would probably not wear it tomorrow. 

Reputation is everything and if it's what's needed, then so be it. 

She places the ribbon on the dresser. Her dress falls to the floor, her exhaustion taking over and feeling no need to pick it up tonight. In the morning, she’ll berate herself for her laziness and aim to be a better model (despite no one being here to take after her) but for now, it’s acceptable. Opening the first drawer, she finds herself a purple t-shirt and throws it on. 

** _‘I’m good in bed, I can sleep 24/7’ _ **

Those words go against everything established for her personality and drive but it’s funny. Dorothy thought so when she bought it for her at least. It’s her favorite thing to sleep in. 

Speaking of which, she pulls back the quilt and feels herself fall against the comfort of the twin-sized mattress. She smiles into the soft pillows and lets herself fall into the depths of deep slumber. 

* * *

Her heart is beating loudly. The darkness is destroying her, the silence is making her ears work harder to detect every little sound there is. She can’t close her eyes, she can’t bother thinking about sleeping. Don’t be stupid! She could  _ die _ because she bothered to trust them. They may seem nice but that doesn’t mean the moment she stops complying that she’s still safe. 

The anxiety doesn’t fade. It creeps into every little speck on her body, enlighting her on fire. She wants to cry. She wants her mom and dad. She misses Endwood Catholic High School and long-running green valleys of field. She misses her exes. She misses the friends she had there. 

She misses her old life. She wishes she had just been smarter, not so naive to get caught up in the mafia. 

Every little movement could end her. Her mind is reeling, her eyes going wide. The hitch of the breath she wasn’t knowing she was taking was a reminder. A reminder she was just still her, she was still alive. Sometimes, it didn’t feel it. 

She’s warm. A nice, warm quilt is over her petite frame. It almost feels like a hug, she misses those. The pillow underneath is her head is undoubtedly supportive and the mattress is so soft against her sore, overworked and weak muscles. It feels so nice. 

This is a luxury, something she hasn’t deserved yet. She’s just existed to these people and they are already so kind to her but she can’t risk being wrong. If she’s wrong, she’ll die or worse!

Virgil needs to calm down, she knows this, but the fear is overwhelming. She’s devoid of the ability to remain calm. She’s spent so long in this fear. She needs to survive, she has to if she ever wants to see her mother or friends again. Do they even care?

They must have given up looking for her a long time ago. She bets even the most stubborn cop has fallen down the rabbit hole with them. Have they forgotten her? Did her friends not care? Do they remember her? 

She can’t breathe. The pressure on her chest is angonzing, she’s losing the ability to see. Or is that the tears? Her vision is blurry, everything falling together in a far away mess. Her throat hurts, it aches and her lungs beg for mercy but she’s trying and  _ failing.  _ She can’t stop it, it hurts, it hurts, it - 

_ “No need to worry, I am not here to harm you. That is not my intent, even if I am the family head. My people are my people, please remember to breathe.”  _

_ “I’ll take care of you now.” _

_ “Please inform me immediately if anything is off or wrong, you are granted express permission to the ninth floor for that.” _

_ ‘Logan,’ _ The name runs through her head before she can stop herself. When she was like that when they met, she was understanding and patient. It was as if she had dealt with panic attacks before, like she was experienced. 

Her feet are planted against the floor before she can stop herself. Her fingers are shaking against the mattress where they lay on it. Her chest is uneven, heaving with each hithy, short breath. 

She’s scared. She’s fucking terrified. She could be killed but she feels like she’s dying right now. She needs help and she can only ask…

Her feet handle her weight and rush her out of her room, into the hallway. She looks around, whipping her head back and forth. Does anyone see her? Is going to be attacked? God, she feels like she’s in some kind of a horror movie.

Her socked feet travel down the clean floor, until she finds the polished shine of the elevator glaring her way. It’s active, still working. Virgil hasn’t had to move around this much in years. She was always dragged somewhere, tossed here and there as they pleased. Being on her feet for so long today felt weird. It hurt, that’s for sure.

She could walk back and go inside her room, hide away until morning came and she had to pretend nothing was off. This was different. She was always so scared, but this was new. She didn’t know what to do or how to act anymore. She was terrified. 

She needed someone like she never knew before. 

“Virgil?” Logan’s door was pulled open, showing her messy frame. The well-dressed and groomed woman she had seen was long gone. Her hair was messy, curly even. It was obvious she had been woken up by Virgil. It is probably late still. Or early? She wasn’t sure anymore. 

She couldn’t speak. Her throat felt so tight and her eyes were stinging so much. She looked horrible, she knew it. The only thing that admitted from her vocal chords were choked whimpers. God, she was pathetic. 

Despite the glasses that were crookedly placed on her face and the frizzy hair framing her sharp jaw, she seemed so calm and knowing. It was like she held the fate of the future in her gentle hands and could crush it if she pleased. It seemed like she knew every move to make, every answer to say. Virgil was nothing like her. Virgil had never seen anyone like her. Maybe that’s why she needs her so much right now. 

Something was horribly wrong. She was terrified of Logan, of this place, of these new confusing people, but she needed her right now. 

Logan cocked her head to the side, slowly waking up with each second that passed. She pushed her door open, her frame becoming visible. Her eyes made her look so sharp and demanding, like a mean boss but she looked so  _ soft _ . She had soft curves that aren’t that noticeable out right but staring at Logan was the only thing keeping her from slipping into a breakdown. The dark T-shirt was loose on her, showing the top of her shoulder and it fell to cover her pelvic region, it seemed like something nice to sleep in. 

“Virgil, are you okay? Is something the matter?” Logan said with such ease. 

That was all it took. 

She was crying, she was curling in on herself. She must look so much uglier than she already was. Logan must be so confused, so angry with her. She hasn’t said a word to her and here she finds herself crying and panting like an exhausted dog in front of her room. She must -

“It’s okay,” Logan’s warm hand laid on top of her head, making Virgil snap her head up to look at her. She stared at Logan’s eyes. They were kind and gentle and soft and - how could someone like her look so soft and gentle? She was the head of the Cromwell Mafia, the top dog for Christ’s sake! She must have ordered hits herself before, arranged executors, and made Virgil’s life indirectly miserable because they were in the best in the business and no other gang could compare. 

She just was. Her sweet, calming smile was there and her hand was unmoving. She noticed how light it was. It wouldn’t take much effort to shake it off. She was giving Virgil an option. 

How long had it been since she had that again? 

“Do you want to come in?” Logan’s voice, light and sweet, was everything she needed right then and there. Without muttering a word this entire time, she found herself being led to the bed and sat down on it. 

Her arms were soft and warm. They looked it without the conserative dress no longer covering them. They were soft but they were strong. She was no dainty fairy, Virgil could see that. Maybe that’s why she reached on the back of Logan’s loose shirt and gripped it tightly, wishing to never be let go off. Everything felt safe at that moment, every was peaceful and kind for once.

“Virgil, you don’t need to say but trying nodding yes or no,” Logan started, gentle in her words. “But are you having a panic attack? You’re shaking and your breath is labored.” 

There was no point in hiding it. It’s why she came to her in the first place. 

She shook her head yes.

  
  
“Okay, that’s okay. I’m not mad or upset. I’m glad you came to me,” Logan spoke softly, gently running her fingers through Virgil’s curly hair. Her soft rubbing touches was making the teenager’s body become putty in her arms. “I’m glad you didn’t keep this a secret. I’m proud of you, okay?”

Her eyes were stinging again, she wanted to cry. She hadn’t heard those words in a longtime, not since her mother had pinched her cheek and told her how proud she was of her exam grades. She felt her shoulders quiver and the whimpers fall through her tight lips.

“Can you tell me five things you can see?” Logan asked, “Don’t question it, just try okay?”

Virgil complied, not knowing what else to do or say. “I...I see your quilt, the bedframe, your pillows...uh, your shirt and...does your hair count?”

She heard Logan chuckle, smiling. “Yes, can you tell me four things you can feel?”

“You…” Virgil blushed. “Your bed, your shirt, and uh...y-your hair.”

“What are three things you can hear then?”

“Um, me, you, and uh, the wind.”

“Good,” Logan said encouragingly. “What about two things you can smell?”

Her cheeks were starting to heat up again, “Y-you…”

Logan snorted, amused. It was cute.

“And uh, the rain?”

“Good. good,” Logan gently stroked Virgil’s hair, making her feel warm and like goo in Logan’s soft, kind hands. “Now, can you tell me something you can taste?” 

Virgil licked her lips, the lingering taste of dinner on her tongue. “Curry.”

“That’s so good, thank you. You did so well, Virgil, I’m proud of you.” Logan released Virgil and the girl in question realized how she was actually breathing normally, her body was unhinged, and her heart was beating a normal rate for once. She was relaxed, calm. 

All because of Logan.

Virgil felt herself blush again, looking down at her lap. 

“How about we get you back to your room? You probably haven’t been able to sleep at all.” Logan smiled, slipping off the bed and offering her hand to the dark brunette. 

Virgil looked up at her and her shining, kind blue eyes. She let herself be pulled, staring at the woman before her. Who exactly was she? 

Somehow, she made everything better. 

Is she really the head of this unrivalled mafia? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been around a month or so since I last updated. On schedule, I seem to be! Who would have thunk? Despite my want to move forward at a quicker place but before you know the pacing is slow at the end of the chapter after you typed it up after three days of being laser-focused on it. Nevertheless, this is dedicated to the lovely, magnificent, and stellar @ugudfahm! What would I ever do without the CEO of analogical, Farah, herself to keep me in line? 
> 
> Hopefully in the next chapter, we can get moving along. Until next time, I suppose!


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